


motor oil and frustration (a doomtony college au drabble)

by shelkenz



Series: The DoomTony Chronicles [1]
Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, actually there's some plot, doomtony, if you squint a bunch, shirtless doom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 13:05:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6154683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelkenz/pseuds/shelkenz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty much what the title says? There's shower sex and Doom teasing Tony and it was all just meant as a bit of fun between RPs, really.</p><p>This is part of a much larger whole we're doing with these two, starting in the armored 616 pre-SW days with them and working backwards and then eventually forwards again. It's complicated, but I love this pairing, tbh. </p><p>Also, at the time I was pretty sure it would be my only chance to ever describe Vic's hot shirtlessness so I ran with it and I'm not sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	motor oil and frustration (a doomtony college au drabble)

 

 

   He’d become so immersed in his work that the world around him barely existed anymore; circuits and hydraulic systems, gears and wires intricately linked, data uploads and meticulous coding, these were the sum of Victor’s existence now. A black t-shirt lay discarded–hurled without thought–into a nearby chair and sweat trickled in thin slivers of wet down his bare back. The sheen of it outlined every lithe muscle as he worked, accentuating a well-defined, athletic build that held every promise of one day achieving Olympian standards of physical power.  
  
  As he pushed damp strands of black from his forehead–leaving an almost comical smudge of motor oil behind–he was utterly unaware of how out of place he was in the white, florescent sterility of the lab. He was a bronze-skinned thing of myth; a young, bare-chested Theseus in a circle of bespectacled young men who tried very hard not to notice his shamelessness, just as they tried to overlook his fiery temperament or the almost otherworldly level of obsession he gave to every task.  
  
   Stark, however, watched with interest. It wasn’t intentional–he’d simply glanced up and hormones had done the rest. He knew himself to be attractive; his quick, penetrating eyes and tight physique were points of pride, he had been blessed with good hair and long lashes that made him look almost innocent, when he wanted to be. But Victor was, at least in that adrenaline-filled, pheromone-driven moment, a fucking Adonis and while there was at least the small chance of having his hand slapped away–or worse–the desire to run his fingers over that slick, smooth skin was intense enough to make his head spin a little. Dry-mouthed, he continued to stand and stare, still holding the soldering rod poised in mid-air, other hand lifted to steady the board he’d been at work on. It would have been embarrassing, probably, if he’d been aware that he was even doing it.  
  
  Von Doom could feel his gaze; see Tony watching, from the corner of his eye. It would be wrong to encourage this, of course, but he liked basking in the other’s desire. It flattered his ego, and sent a little quiver down from navel to groin that he couldn't yet identify. There was a dark twist to the feeling that intrigued him. It was… _Gratifying._

  The faintest hint of an arrogant smile curved his lips. This was a good place to pause, he considered. Some indulgence had been earned, if only briefly.  
  
   Raking curled fingers through inky hair, he folded his hands at the back of his head and stretched–spine arching hard and muscles held in straining tension, showing every curve and tight line, head back and throat bared, jeans slipping down just enough to hint at the tone below, and the glistening, soft trail of hair that vanished under button and zipper.  
  
  A long, deep breath and his chest expanded, the whole of him moving more like a predatory thing than a human man–as fluidly and lazily self-aware as a cat, and equally heedless of all who admired him. He rolled his shoulders and extended his arms, then cracked his knuckles and returned to work–moving deliberately now, intentionally putting on a small show for one pair of eyes only. At long last he glanced up, teeth bared in a smile that promised something devious, and acknowledged his watcher. One pinkie flicked a small screwdriver off the top of the machine on which he worked, and Victor, keeping his hands busy, tsked under his breath.  
  
  “It seems a third hand is needed. Anthony, if you would be so kind?” He nodded toward the dropped tool vaguely. Lids lowered and dark eyes watchful, waiting to see if the other would take the bait.  
  
   After an exaggerated show of annoyance at leaving his own work and a muted-but-cutting comment (while his flushed cheeks and the quick rise and fall of his chest said so very much more), he did exactly that.  
  
  Standing face-to-face, there was a current of highly-charged tension between the two. Absurdly, a second smudge of black had somehow marred Victor’s left jaw, and for a moment, Tony wanted to wipe it away. Instead, he swallowed hard and bent to retrieve the dropped item.  
  
  Hidden by the machine, Victor turned and pressed himself deliberately against Tony’s ass, one hand curling to hold his hip. Anyone could have walked by, could have seen it, and his heart raced at the thought, but the sudden pressure against his already-stiff cock, even through the thick denim, was more than worth it. Tony drew a quick breath and stifled a moan. As if he wasn’t turned on enough already.  
  
  “You fucking tease,” he gritted as he stood, back suddenly pressed to Victor’s damp chest.  
  “Thank you,” he purred against the side of Tony’s neck, a phrase with double meaning as he pulled the screwdriver from his hand.  
  “Do you really need to walk around here half-dressed like that? Were you raised by wolves? What?”  
  “Gypsies,” Victor corrected blithely. “And I’ve heard no complaints. You seemed to be enjoying the show.” His utter calm was, as usual, maddening.  
  
  Of course it was deliberate. Of course this smirking, self-satisfied _prick_ had been doing it just to get a rise out of him. Just like always. The younger Stark folded his arms and offered a look of withering disgust.  
  
  “I don’t care if they were fucking yetis. This is a lab, and we don’t need to be subjected to your rippling… everything. Plus, the sweat is probably a bio-hazard, and you look like you just crawled out from under a Chevy. This isn’t fucking shop class, _Vicky_.”  
  
   Von Doom knew that tone well, by now. Anger, masking frustration. Exactly the reaction he’d wanted–all that fire, so easily re-directed.  
  
  “I believe that’s why we have a shower facility, Anthony.” Dry, unflappable amusement. Not so much as a hint of irritation in those gold-brown eyes. Bending his head to speak more softly, he caught the waistband of Tony’s pants and tugged him closer, their hips meeting.  
  
   Despite the sweat, he still smelled of soap and something more exotic, unidentifiable; beneath that was a heady combination of testosterone and all the lovely chemicals that made Stark's stomach clench, a hard throb rolling through his cock as Victor spoke again.  
  
   “If you’ll still your sharp tongue, I may even let you join me. Though… I would wait five minutes before following–no need to stir any rumors.”  
  
  Letting go, he put the tool back in its place and grabbed his shirt, making his way to the secondary building. Others quickly went back to their work, half of them now certain of what was going on between the two and the other half determinedly maintaining their ignorance. Reed, for his part, simply shook his head and continued mapping out his equations.

 

* * *

 

  Victor wasn’t hard to find. It was a known quirk of his to shower under the highest heat possible, filling the room with steam and leaving it a marvel that his skin remained intact. All in an effort to drive out the cold that had long since become a part of him.  
  
  Tony pulled back the curtain and slipped inside, hissing at the stinging spray --but apparently the setting had been adjusted as soon as he'd stepped inside, and it quickly became more bearable.  
  
   “At least you’re clean now,” he shrugged. Victor made a sound that could have been a chuckle, rinsing with a rapid shake of his head before turning on his lab-mate.  
   
 “But wearing even less than before.” Hands catching the top of the shower stall, he pinned his lover in place, legs apart and all-too-evident erection trapped between them. “Doesn't that make me even _more_ offensive?” Droplets spilled from his dark lashes, almost distracting from the scalding lust in his eyes.  
  
  “Place and time, Victor. Showers are for nakedness. Labs are not. You might want to write that down.”  
  
   Tired of the banter at last, Victor clamped a hand over Tony’s mouth, strong fingers digging into the muscle of the jaw just a fraction too hard.  
  
  “ _Time and place_ , Tony. Angering me to get what you want works if I allow it–but once finally indulged, silence is wise.” A thought seemed to occur to him, as he reached down to stroke Tony to hardness, grip firm but pace unhurried. “I should just make you watch me, since you enjoyed that so much. Next time, I think–with a gag, out of sheer necessity. Cuffed to my bed, kneeling and needful, with no way to reach yourself and no choice but to watch me enjoy your frustration.”  
  
  Somehow his hand had left Tony’s length to stroke his own, eyes shuttering in obvious enjoyment as his fingers curled and rolled, hips synced with the movement. Clearly, this idea had appeal. He stopped abruptly, eyes flicking open and expression thoughtful.  
  
   “But not today.”  
  
  Uncovering Tony’s mouth and bearing the expected protests, Victor’s hands began to wander again–blunted nails skimming across chest and stomach, a long, hard kiss to silence him, and then the unimaginable–he slid gracefully to one knee, like a knight accepting honors, and ran his tongue in a long, heated swath down Tony’s cock.  
  
   Technically, he was kneeling. Clearly, he intended to do the obvious. But somehow it was just as proprietary and commanding as every other encounter between them. The power remained on Von Doom’s side.  
  
   And he delighted in it.  
  
  The only knowledge of the act he'd gained so far came from receiving, but it wasn’t difficult to extrapolate–what felt good to him would likely feel just as nice to another, and corrections could be made based on small reactions. Like the shaky, breathless little moan as his lips rolled along the shaft, or the soft little obscenities when his tongue swirled around the tip, lathing across the slit before he resumed the pace–one hand keeping Tony’s hips still even as he used their movement for guidance.  
  
  His own arousal urgently demanded attention now, and every second of this experience only made the need more intense–from the way Tony’s hands scrabbled at the slick tile to his trembling legs and low, ragged moans--knowing that he was the cause of all this, that the subtle movement of tongue, mouth, and hand were producing this frenzy, it all left Victor panting for breath, muffled groans vibrating against silken skin as he finally gave in and focused a free hand on himself. The water made for a delightful slickness, his pace quickly matching the rapid strokes he gave.  
  
  A long shudder of tension and his body tightened, breath held as they both hovered on the edge–but this was one thing he could not bring himself to do. Tasting the pre-cum on his tongue was enough to decide him on it. Ill-mannered though it may be, he had no intention of swallowing, even experimentally.  
  
   He stood quickly, both hands still moving at the same rate, and growled harsh, Slavic syllables of pure want against Tony’s mouth, circling the tip of his lover's cock with one thumb on every upward stroke. It jerked in his hand at the same second as his own did, and then there was nothing but bliss and heat, and the echoing sound of their moans off the dripping walls.


End file.
